Breathless Moments
by Mandy126
Summary: "Breathe Yuri." His voiced urge, a plead to it that he had never heard before. "Just open your eyes and breathe." Life had always been about time, but now it was about breathing. Good and bad, it only took a moment to steal his breath away. (A oneshot series of good and bad moments that leave us breathless. This picks up after Episode 6.)
1. Chapter 1 Nerves

"Yuri-", he whispered, his breath fanning the competitive skater's cheek, "breathe."

His charge sucked a short breath in while glancing everywhere but him.

"I am breathing."

He couldn't help the smile curving his lips. "Of course." Leaning even more forward, pressing his entire weight into his pupil, he tucked his face into Yuri's hair, and listened to the soft groans slipping from Yuri's throat.

"Viktor.."

"Just a little longer."

He could feel the heat rippling from Yuri's face against his neck. It was obvious his charge was blushing, which was exactly what he wanted. As soon as it was announced yesterday that Yuri was officially in first place, he had lost his confidence. Nerves badgered him into reclusion. His switch flipped.

Yuri, while being right beside him, suddenly felt as if he were miles away.

It was common in ice skating to utilize nerves. They were what sharpened a performance from okay to outstanding. So, at first he had left Yuri alone. But now with them being only a few hours from performing again, he acted.

Victor shifted his grip, pressing a little deeper in some areas, lifting himself slightly to alter the type of stretch. And grinned harder when Yuri relaxed. He turned his face deeper into the brunet's hair, finding his soft ear.

"Do you like me on top Yuri?"  
Immediately he felt his charge's body tighten and burn with a body wide blush. Incredulous brown eyes found his.

"VIKTOR!"

His laugh filled the small room of stretching skaters, drawing the attention of many. But that mattered very little, his goal had been accomplished. Yuri was out of his own head and now focused on him. He could work with this.


	2. Chapter 2 Worry

"Skaters may now take the ice to warm up."

The all-call filled the arena, but Viktor only stood there, his stomach knotted with unease. Something felt wrong, and he couldn't place his finger on it. He crossed his arms, cradled his chin, and slowly eyed Yuri, ticking off his mental list as he went. Skates: check. Laces: brand new. Stretched: Check. Everything was as it should be.

He watched as Yuri slinked slowly to the opening of the rink, his skate guards clinking with every step. But as his foot crossed the thresh-hold, the panic became too much.

"Yuri- "

Before Viktor even realized it, he was behind his skater. His hands reaching for the thin but strong back in front of him. But as Yuri turned over his shoulder, his face calm, focused, lips narrow and white, he found himself pulling back. His hands clenched at his side, stopping himself from touching the man in front of him, from pulling him close and hugging him tight.

Something felt so terrible wrong. But he didn't know. He didn't understand.

He searched Yuri's face, watching his sugar brown eyes swirling with questions, doubt, strength, and trust. He was so innocent, so handsomely innocent, that Viktor's heart stuttered in amazement.

He wanted to tell him. The desire to do so flooded through him so strongly that he almost bowed under its magnitude. Like bricks of emotions, he felt the words of adoration and love at the back of his tongue, suffocating him, but Yuri wasn't ready.

Viktor's nails bit into his palms as the desire to wrap him in his strong arms pounded through him.

Yuri needed a coach right now. He needed someone to believe in his talent, not a lover.

His brows furrowed and Yuri turned to face him better, his head cocked to the right.

"Yuri….-" He needed to say something here. He looked to the ice for inspiration but only found himself drowning in dread.

"-Безопасность прежде всего." His eyes lift back to Yuri's, hoping he understood. "Yes?"

It was all a second, but Yuri step forward, his hand curling around Viktor's tightly, and in a softness reserved for the bedroom he answered him.

Then just a quick, he stepped away, his eyes holding contact with Viktor's as he slipped his guards off and entered the ring.

"Breath Viktor." Yuri's grin was contagiously confident, and when the man was lost within the arms of the ice rink, he found himself warm, light head, and still filled with worry.

Nothing would happen during the warm up though, it was common curtesy to avoid the other skaters. He was just being excessive…to attached.

Shaking his head lightly, he walked to the edge of the arena and searched for Yuri in the mess of skaters.

Please let him be wrong about this.

* * *

Russian phrase= "Safety first" (I hope lol)


	3. Chapter 3 Silence

He knew it wasn't good when the whole arena screeched and then fell into a viscous silence. A silence he'd heard a few times during his career. A silence that killed careers.

Where was Yuri?

Viktor searched the ice franticly. When he didn't find him, he took a step, then another, and suddenly the whipping cold of the ice rink was barreling into him as he rocketed down the side looking for his skater.

He couldn't breathe. His heart pounded, and his eyes burned with fury, pain, and hope. But as soon as he saw him, he was shocked into stillness.

On the ice, not moving-

That couldn't be him.

Silently Viktor stared, hoping that in his stillness, time would rewind, would remake itself before him.

This couldn't be..

A flash of this morning filled his mind, with Yuri cuddled tightly to him, the puff of his breath against his neck, soothing like a lullaby.

It just couldn't.

He choked on the rush of feelings that flew through him. And in a final attempt to deny this present situation Viktor glanced to the jumbotron.

Pale, laying in a puddle of his own blood all across the jumbotron….oh God.

His hand flew to his mouth to cover the shock, the pain, the trembling.

What could he do? Where were some skates?

He agitatedly searched his immediate area for a pair, but after a few precious seconds passed, he forwent the skates and instead stepped directly on the ice.


	4. Chapter 4 Collision

Sliding I navigated the ice, shuffling, slipping, and gliding as fast as possible. But it didn't feel fast enough. I wasn't beside him. I needed to feel his warm skin pressed to my cold face, to feel his soft breath against my neck as I gathered him up and confirmed he was still _here_ , still beside me.

My breath left in a choppy gasp as I pumped my legs across the ice, drawing closer to my goal. I was almost there.

The sickening crunch of bodies colliding echoed in the rink. Stunned I looked up, searching, but found not skaters, but a recording, the jumbotron, playing the accident, frozen on the moment of collision.

Yuri had been clobbered by another skater while skating backward at full speed.

The jumbotron slowly moved shot by shot passed the collision, replaying the rest of the accident.

The skaters fell gracelessly, feet flying as they went, and then my stomach sank to my feet.

Worse. A rolling nausea assaulted me, sapping me of every ounce of strength I had. It was worse than just a collision.

I watched as the blades of the other skater grazed Yuri's head and neck -slicing.

Oh God.

Blood shot from him in a spritz, sprinkling the ice, and then he landed. Head first, he hit the ice and bounced, and then he didn't move.

Weakness flooded me. I was going to be sick. I was going to be visible sick all over the ice, right here.

The rumble of the all-call filled the arena again thrumming through me with its' surety, "All Skater's off the ice." But I wasn't a skater.

Unthinking, I pushed myself forward, fighting the weakness, the illness, the dread, focusing my gaze on the small figure curled on the ice, not but 10 feet from me.

He had to be okay. My throat convulsed with anxiety as I came within speaking distance of Yuri. His small body still unmoving on the ice.

But what if he wasn't?

My heart sputtered, skipping beats.

….."Yuri?"


	5. Chapter 5 Colorless

My breathy whisper sounded more like a cry than a call, but I couldn't care less.

Falling to my knees I scooped his fragile, pale hand in mine and recoiled at the coldness, clamping my hands firmer about his to warm it.

"Yuri?"

Blood pooled under his neck, and his body laid crooked on the ice, half on his side, half on his stomach. But I wouldn't dare move him.

"Yuri?"

He was so colorless that the purple bags under his eyes looked like bruises. The thin veins running through his body, visible.

My hands rubbed his vigorously, an unconscious move on my part to stimulate him into responding, and to impart warmth to his sallow form.

He was so tiny, curled into a simple ball on the ice, the sheet beneath him dwarfing him infinitely. And for the first time ever, I hated the ice. I hated the color, I hated the chill it left behind, I hated that it may be the final embrace he ever felt.

I _hated_ it.

I hated this.

"Please Yuri, wake up. I'll buy you the biggest bowl of katsudon tonight." My hands trembled as he remained silent, "I'll stop teasing you even though I love seeing you blush." I felt my throat choking closed with feelings. "Please." The whisper that left was so heartfelt that my eyes burned with its honesty. "Just- "

I couldn't speak through the trembling. I was going to sob; I could feel the ache in my chest growing, burning, building. If he didn't wake up what would I do?


	6. Chapter 6 Thankful

"….Vik..tor.."

The sound of his voice, rasped and soft, caressed me like a lover. Reminding me of forgotten moments almost never to be had again, secret seconds lost to me, clandestine touches I would never rejoice under. Gone.

And I found myself unmoving, stunned stertorous, scared that I might be imagining him. Dreaming him into reality beside me because I couldn't breathe without him, couldn't dream in a world that no longer held him.

But as he slid his head, rippling the crimson beneath him and his foggy soulful eyes locked with mine, I knew I wasn't fantasizing. I knew with such a potent surety that the tears I'd tried valiantly to hold back, broke their prison, and streamed down my face.

He was awake.

"Viktor?"

I dove for him, pushing wayward strands of his cinnamon hair off his forehead, staining him and me in his blood, but I didn't care.

Too close.

My eyes closed for a moment as I rested my shaking head against his, too afraid to let go, fearful that he would once more be gone, that he would never know. So, damn fearful.

And with that thought, I pulled back and softly, passionately, kissed his face, unable to stop myself. Unable to control my shuddering, my joy, my thankfulness.


	7. Chapter 7 tears

"Viktor?"

He was scared.

"Shhh.." I pressed my body tighter to his, placing his cold hand against my cheek while stroking his hair. He didn't need to move. But I couldn't tell him. My jaw was tightly locked, my lips quivering. If I opened my mouth now nothing coherent would come out. I would only bawl.

And he looked so confused. But I was just so thankful.

So incredibly thankful he was awake, that he was calling for me.

I wanted to thank all the deities I'd ever learned about. I wanted to jerk him up into my arms and cry. I wanted to scream at him for his negligence on the ice, for scaring me so badly. I wanted to shake, and wail, and scream. I wanted to rage so hard that I painted his body red with my love. But I did none of that. Instead, I tightened my lips, drew a deep breath, and forced back the hurricane of feelings, clutching him tighter.

"V..V…VViktor-"

His whole body shuttered beneath mine, a blue tinge painting his lips as he shook.

"-cc.c..cold."

A hand grabbed my shoulder, shoving me back, taking my place. And though panic flooded me when I couldn't feel Yuri anymore, couldn't smell his heady scent, I willingly went, clenching my hands to stop myself from shoving forward once more when I heard his frightened cry for me.

I would be no help to him right now.

More people in medic uniforms flooded around him, cutting off my view.

I would be of no help.

But knowledge of that truth didn't stop my anxiety, it didn't stop my breathless trembling, and it didn't stop my tears from falling.


	8. Chapter 8 Rage

Nervous pacing, that was all he was good for right now.

One foot in front of the other he wandered the hall, until he reached a curve, then he pivoted and started again.

It wasn't safe to look down, there were stains. It also wasn't safe for him to stop because then the angst caught him. So, he continued to pace, eyes high and focused on the ceiling, until his head was so full of images, of words, and things, that he couldn't stand it.

Blood loss. Concussion. Bruised. Broken. Sick.

It had happened quickly, like a slap to the face, brutal, efficient, and painful.

Within seconds of pushing him out of the way, the medical team had scooped Yuri off the ice at a near sprint, the faces of all personnel present rattled. And he had tried to stand up and follow, tried to listen to the medical jargon they spoke. But with every step, every word they spat out, he felt himself crumbling.

He'd thought if Yuri woke up, that if he knew who he was, he would be okay, that he could recover. But they were speaking as if he was still life or death.

"O2 low. Mask him."

Viktor stopped a moment his eyes looking at the medical room, and the nausea from before rolled through him.

The handle was stained crimson.

"He's heading into hypovolemic shock. BP falling. Hang the saline."

Saline?

"Staunch the laceration. Do we have more gauze around here?"

"Here."

Shadows of hands filled the hall, a soft whimper resounded, and Viktor couldn't stop his teeth from grinding, his jaw from tightening, or his hand from shoving his silver bangs back for the millionth time in search of substance.

"Any worse on that heart rate and I'm pushing epi."

Epi? Was his heart giving out?

Viktor's knees weakened.

"Vitya."

At the sound of that familiar nickname Viktor morphed into pure rage, his anger bubbling beneath his skin like lava in the earth. He'd already cried, his eyes were a testament to that; and now, by himself out here, thinking through everything and knowing that it had been a Russian skater that tripped Yuri, a Russian skater that had gotten away with a single bruise from the accident, made him ready to kill. Yakov had never opposed using underhanded methods to get his way. He was sly, ruthless, and one of the best coaches alive. He'd even made it clear he disapproved of Yuri, disapproved of Viktor's choices so far. So the idea that he had set this up, wasn't too farfetched. And if Viktor ever found out he did…well. Yakov wouldn't know what hit him.

Especially if..

He couldn't even finish his thought. All that mattered was that if Yakov had any sense left in his old man brain, he would turn and leave. He would catch the hint from his barely restrained fists, tight shoulders, and silence.

"Vitya, turn around and look at me."


End file.
